


To Withstand the World

by 852_Prospect_Archivist, Justine (Sanj)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, Episode Related: murder101, M/M, Other: See Story Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-10
Updated: 1999-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanj/pseuds/Justine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mainly, Jim and Blair talk.  Set before the tag to "Murder 101."</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Withstand the World

## To Withstand the World

by Kelyn and Justine 

[Both of us found the conclusion to "Sentinel, Too," a little lacking in the angst and guilt departments. We like that sort of thing. Lots. (Yes, we were raised Catholic, and are recovering nicely, thanks.) Hence this missing scene for "Murder 101". 

Justine hypothesized this little conversation, and sent it to her best friend/convert Kelyn (say hello, Kelyn!) for a beta-read. Kelyn turned the angst knob up to eleven and handed it back, saying "I watered the plants. Write your own damn sex scene." Justine got distracted like she always does and sat on it for a month. Kelyn demanded it back again, fixed it some more, and Justine betaed the final product. Ta-da.] 

* * *

To Withstand the World  
by Kelyn and Justine 

> _Buildings and bridges are made to bend in the wind_  
>  To withstand the world, that's what it takes  
>  All that steel and stone are no match for the air, my friend  
>  What doesn't bend, breaks... 
> 
> _We are made to bleed, and scab, and heal, and bleed_ again  
>  And turn every scar into a joke  
>  We are made to fight, and fuck, and talk, and fight again  
>  And sit around and laugh until we choke. 
>
>> > > \--Ani Di Franco, "Buildings and Bridges" 

I'm getting too old for this shit, Jim thought, as the shower pounded down on his aching back. Sandburg had actually made the big arrest this time, and at least _he_ was smart enough not to leap onto a moving vehicle. 

Again. 

Jim played out the details of the Ventriss case until the water ran cold. He had no right to bitch about it, either; Sandburg had left him plenty of hot water. Of course. And hung his towels neatly on the rack. And wiped his hair out of the drain. 

The new Sandburg. The mature, responsible, passionately angry Sandburg. 

Best friend and total stranger. 

Jim slid his bathrobe on and emerged from the bathroom, only to pause, silently, when he stepped into the living room. 

For the first time since Alex Barnes, Blair was taking up space in the living room for something other than a Jags game. He sat cross-legged in front of the fire (the nights were still cool) staring into the flames as if he could find something within them. Meditating. 

Jim remained silent, wanting to let Blair have some quiet now that the Ventriss kid was out of his hair. Jim turned, starting up to bed, but something made him turn around again and look carefully at his partner. 

Something besides the fact that he was ungodly beautiful. 

"It's not working, is it?" Jim heard himself say. 

"What isn't." Blair's voice sounded dull; his response wasn't really a question. 

"Meditating." He stepped back off the stairs and started to move towards the living room, but Sandburg's next words cut him off. 

"It might work if you'd shut up." The words were muttered, out of normal hearing range, but Sandburg had to know perfectly well that Jim would hear them. 

"Fine." Jim stalked up the stairs, determined to ignore the pod person radiating anger in his living room, wanting to just go upstairs and sleep. He stopped on the seventh step, sighed, turned around, and headed back down. Be it his conscience or his jaguar spirit, he knew there wasn't going to be sleep until he at least attempted to get through to his Guide. 

Jim wandered through the kitchen, making himself a cup of tea, puttering. Then he crossed to where Sandburg was sitting in front of the fire to sit and drink the stuff, waiting for some reaction from his partner. 

Nothing. 

The mug was empty and still nothing. Blair was ignoring him. Jim set the mug aside, and cautiously reached out to touch the anger radiating from Blair. It hovered around his partner's slumped, sullen form, crackling under his hands like electricity. "You're angry right out to here, aren't you? I can feel it." 

As he'd hoped, Blair's curiosity won out over his attitude. "You're seeing auras now?" 

"I'm not seeing colors or anything. It's just -- energy, I guess. You're pissed off, and it's just hovering around you. You should let go or process or whatever it is that you do." 

Blair rolled his eyes. "Jim, don't try to be Naomi. It gives me mental whiplash." 

"So just relax." 

"Don't you think I've been trying?" 

Jim put his hand on Blair's shoulder, and when his partner didn't shrug him off, started to rub at his neck. "Pretty tense here." The energy around his partner licked and snapped at him as he began to work on Blair's shoulders. If anything Blair was getting tenser, drawing into himself. 

"Sandburg, this is supposed to be helping. Just let go for a bit." He should stop, let Blair handle this in his own way, but it felt so _good_ to touch him again. Blair apparently agreed, the tension slowly ebbing out of his shoulders, as he began leaning back into Jim's touch. 

"Been a long time since I rated one of these," Blair sighed, and then fell silent, except for little hmms of pleasure and the occasional "right there." The anger vibrating around Blair's form began to ease a little, and Jim felt himself relax in a kind of tandem. He wanted to nuzzle into his partner's hair, to pull him close, caress him. But Blair placed one strong, square hand on his own, where Blair's neck met his shoulder. 

"Where's this going?" 

"You're not supposed to be questioning my intentions, Chief. You're supposed to be relaxing." 

"I mean it, Jim." 

"Does it have to 'go' someplace?" 

"Second law of thermodynamics, isn't it? Energy applied has to go someplace. Or is it Newton's first law -" 

"That's inertia," Jim corrected absently; he'd been surprised to find that he was a little better at physics than Sandburg, who preferred his sciences on the more interpretive side. 

"No, man, I _get_ inertia, okay? Bodies at rest tending to remain at rest. People who don't talk to each other continuing to not fucking talk to each other. I _get_ inertia. Inertia's my _life_." 

"Blair," Jim fought to keep the exasperation out of his tone. 

"And it _is_ goddamned thermodynamics, not Newton," Blair continued, undaunted. He switched to a slightly nasal lecturing tone, no doubt imitating some half forgotten physics professor, "Energy applied must either exit the system, or be expressed as entropy." Blair pushed away from him, returning to his self-pitying huddle, "I've got enough fucking entropy for the entire city, which would explain why stuff tends to blow up around me." 

"Sandburg, do you want to talk, or do you want to just sit here and sulk a while?" 

"I want to sit here and sulk." But the words were whispered, and before Jim could move, Blair reached back and grabbed wildly for Jim's hand. "Wait. We should talk. I want to talk. But not about Brad Ventriss. This was never about him." 

Do we have to? Jim wanted to ask. They'd stayed away from this fight for so long that Jim had begun to hope that they'd just left it all behind them -- Alex, the dissertation, the fact that Blair had _died_ , that there had been an entire minute of Jim's life when idiot paramedics had referred to Blair Sandburg as a _body_ \-- 

"God, do we have to?" The words actually slipped out, and he ran his hand through Blair's hair in something of an apology for his crassness. 

"I don't want to either," Blair said ruefully, sounding more like himself than he had in days, "but it's like a root canal, Jim. If we don't do it, things are just going to get worse. For both of us." 

They both sat there, playing with the little bits of wood from in front of the fireplace. Together, but apart. Jim knew Sandburg was right; he was always right about shit like this. 

When he bothered to open his mouth. 

"And that's just the thing," Jim said, as if he'd been thinking out loud. "I mean, why didn't you _say_ anything? When Incacha," his voice broke, and he cleared his throat, "when Incacha died you were right there, you were in my face, Chief." 

"Well, you weren't waving a _gun_ in my face then," Blair pointed out. "You hadn't run off to get yourself some 'space', and you hadn't threatened to pull the entire rug out from under my dissertation --" 

"Great, we're back to that. That's still what this is about, isn't it? I apologized, but you just won't let it go." 

"Jim it isn't-" 

"Chief, I know that the damn paper is important to you, but it's my life you're summarizing and categorizing into data tables." 

"God, Jim, what does it _take_? Blood? You've already got it, okay? Whatever it takes from me to get you to believe that this is not about my dissertation, that it probably never _has_ been about my fucking dissertation..... Whatever it is, Jim, you've got it. I've jumped out of an airplane. I've taken gunshot wounds. Hell, I've shot the gun myself. 

"And that was before the thing with Alex. I stood by while you swapped tonsils with that _bitch_ , and I defended you when you ran off to reenact Adam and Eve, leaving Connor and me to play tag with Pancho Villa and his buddies." 

That hurt. Jim wasn't proud of his behavior when they'd chased Alex south. Forget proud, the very thought of the expedition made him cringe. Blair had explained it away as instinct overriding common sense, but it still felt like a betrayal. He had betrayed his friends, his duty, even himself. Jim knew it and hated it, and Blair was throwing it back in his face. 

But Blair didn't let him defend himself, plowing ahead with his argument, cutting off his guilt trip before it could even begin. 

"Alex killed me for her own reasons, because of what I knew. Know. Whatever. In this single instance the world does not revolve around Detective James Ellison. I screwed the thing with Alex up all on my own." He punctuated his point with a finger to Jim's chest. "You may have pushed her to move a bit sooner, but it was going to happen anyway. She was never gonna leave me wandering around _publishing_ papers on enhanced senses, for God's sake." 

Jim saw the logic in that -- perhaps too clearly. He nodded. 

"And none of what happened in Mexico changes the fact that I'm still fucking _breathing_ because of you, and I'm not talking about the CPR. Get it? I'm still here because you needed me badly enough to come and get me _after_ I was pronounced dead." 

The one word, dead, echoed through the room, ricocheting off their silence. 

"I died for the damned dissertation, Jim," Blair finished quietly, "but I'm sure as hell _living_ for you." 

"Jesus, Blair," Jim breathed. How had he ever earned such loyalty? 

"Do you believe me?" Those eyes bored into his skull, inexorable. Storms at sea. 

Jim nodded wordlessly. 

"Do you?" 

"Yes," he managed to gasp, "I believe you." 

"It's not about the dissertation," Blair prompted. 

"It's not about the dissertation," Jim echoed, but shook his head even as he said it. "Then what is it about?" 

"I don't know," Blair said, backing down, rubbing at his face with his hands. "I don't know. I don't even know why I'm angry anymore. I just am. Angry and so fucking tired of it all." 

"Chief, you've got a right to be angry, okay? I threw you out of your home, here, I didn't listen to you, I looked at your paper when you told me not to--" 

"I don't care if it's righteous or not, I don't know where to put it. All this anger with nowhere to go." He looked despairingly at his hands. "Brad picked the worst possible time to get in my face." 

"Not to mention hitting all of your buttons." At Blair's inquiring look, Jim shrugged. "Look. You're a scholar, a genius, up to your ass in hock for financial aid. Brad Ventriss is a lazy, stupid kid who can afford to buy himself good grades. You and Naomi spend your entire childhood trying to prove that a single hippie can be a mother. Ventriss hides behind his rich _father_. You treat sex like the last sacred thing in America, and you find out Ventriss is a rapist." 

"And a murderer," Blair added quietly, "when I just had an NDE." He shook his head. "Pretty sharp analysis there, detective." 

"You only _think_ you love me for my body," Ellison teased softly, mussing Blair's hair. 

"Oh, but I do," Sandburg said, catching Jim's hand and pulling it down to his mouth, kissing the palm. "I do." Jim gasped as the warm wetness of Blair's mouth and the sharp edged tingle of Blair's anger melded in his hand. He wanted this, he wanted more, but Sandburg was still angry out to _here_ , and that had to be dealt with first. So Jim held his peace, idly stroking Blair's hair, smoothing the curls, soothing the barbs, patiently waiting for his partner to go on. 

"So tell me how you do it, o wise warrior. How do you keep from being so goddamn angry it pulls you under?" 

Jim slid his hand along Blair's jaw, feeling the scratch of stubble as his hand passed down his partner's throat, and then cloth on smooth flesh out along the muscular shoulders. Trying to find a way to express the lesson that had come so hard, taken him so many years to learn. "You find a reason for letting go and going on. You don't try and do it alone." The words came out small and hollow in the openness of the loft, settling into the corners of the silence. 

Unbidden, he saw the image in his mind from when Blair had revived at the fountain -- and looking down at Blair's face, he realized his partner was thinking of the same vision, and was pulling away, as the mood shattered around them. 

We're still at the fountain, he thought, seeing the same thought in his partner's eyes. 

Jim looked away, stared at a spot on the floor. "You were dead, " he said, his voice dull. "Do you have any idea how that feels? Suddenly realizing that you were my reason.... I'd thrown you out, and managed to get you killed anyway and I would never have a chance to say I was sorry. To say thank you." 

"We both fucked up," Blair said, flatly. "We both get another chance." 

"So find your reason to let this shit go. Forgive yourself for hoping for the best from people when you run into the worst. Forgive yourself for surviving." Blair ran a hand through his own hair, staring at the fire, trying, maybe, to absorb it all. Jim ached to touch him, to make everything else go away, let them worry about fixing this later. 

He was afraid if they tried to fix it now, he would lose the right to touch Blair again, but nothing that had been said could be undone, and there was still so much left unsaid. "Thank you, and I'm sorry," he said, so that the words were out there, n;How about you're the best damn detective he's got, so he's willing to let you keep a pet?" The bitterness in Blair's voice startled Jim. 

"You're my partner, Chief. Not a pet." 

"A security blanket, then. One you keep around just in case. You've got Simon and Connor in on it now -- crutches who aren't civilians. So what the hell do you need me for?" 

"That is self-pitying bullshit and you know it." 

"Do I?" he asked wistfully. 

"Sandburg, don't you dare give up on me. Don't you fucking dare." 

"Jim, I can't live like this. I'm sorry, I really tried, but I _can't_ live like this." Blair stopped abruptly, but Jim could see that there was more. He squeezed Blair's shoulder gently, trying to encourage him, afraid of what he might say. 

Blair sighed, and spoke quietly, letting the last of the rage flicker into nothingness, "I love you, but I cannot be your paean to innocence, okay? I've seen too much. I nearly killed somebody today, and that is totally unacceptable. I can be your lover, your partner, your guide, your _equal_ , and stand up beside you. But I can't be the rock on which you build your world, you can't be my Holy Grail, and we can't be each other's daily affirmation. We're either in this together, or we're not in it at all." 

Silence. And there it was. What it all was really about. If he accepted that his life was fundamentally altered, that against all common sense and good intentions he was permanently stuck with one half-housebroken, appallingly sexy anthropologist -- with zero sense of self preservation, and a heart as generous as the sky -- then something in his life had to give. 

It wasn't about the dissertation, it wasn't about the sentinel thing, or the job, or even Alex and the fountain. It wasn't about any of the things that had thrown them together. It was about the two of them, Jim and Blair. 

Together, but apart. 

Apart, but together. 

If he took that last step, if he let down the last wall, and accepted what had happened, everything and nothing would change. And if he didn't, if he said 'no', paradise lost. 

"Did you mean it?" A warm hand on his chin forced him to meet Blair's eyes. 

"Did I mean what, Chief?" 

"About forgiving yourself for surviving. Forgiving me my stupidity, and getting past the ugliness." 

Jim hesitated, not knowing where this was leading, before replying quietly, "yes." 

"Really mean it? Not just saying it to try and patch things up?" 

"Yes, really." 

Quiet kiss, gentle enough to break his heart. "Do you trust me?" 

The six million dollar question. "Always," he said, surprised to find the answer so readily. 

"Can you trust me enough to step back and let me fall on my face? Can you let me go, and trust me to come back?" 

Jim couldn't speak; he could only nod. 

Another kiss, whisper-soft. "Do you believe that I'm dangerous enough to stand up and make it on my own?" 

"God." Inner demons were screaming, _Make him need you._ But what Blair needed was the truth. The real truth, no matter how much it hurt to say it. "Yes. You could make it on your own. Maybe better than you do here." 

"Just let me make in on my own with you, okay?" 

"Blair, I don't want to make you into what I am." 

"Not going to happen. We are what we are, and what we are meant to be." Kiss. Blair's thumb ran down the length of his face, from temple to chin once, gently, and then the hand went away. Blair was going away. The ground was falling out from under him; an abyss gaping below him. "You trust me, can you believe in me?" 

"I..." Blue eyes, the sea at rest. The currents he couldn't see were raging beneath the surface; the currents he wasn't strong enough to withstand were going to tear him apart. "I'll try." 

"No. You'll do it or you won't. No more half-assed monkeying around, Ellison. In or out." 

"That an ultimatum, Sandburg?" 

"Alex was one hell of a two minute warning, Jim. This is it. Use it or lose it, because we have run out of other options. In or out." 

"In. God help me, in." The world didn't shake or shatter, the heaviness in his heart didn't lift, there wasn't even a feeling of satisfaction from making the decision, just a quiet pang as some part of himself gave way under Blair's intensity. 

Blair, relieved, gave way himself, and slid into Jim's embrace, easy as breathing. 

If there were tears, they each trusted the other not to mention them. 

* * *

End To Withstand the World. 


End file.
